


Soul Fisting.

by his tongue and liver (doubleinfinity)



Category: Outlast (Video Games)
Genre: Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, Bad BDSM Etiquette, Belts, Bottoming from the Top, Butt Plugs, Butt Slapping, Choking, Clusterfuck, Cock Slut, Comeplay, Comfort, Cuddling & Snuggling, Deepthroating, Demonic Possession, Dirty Talk, Established Relationship, Face-Sitting, Fluff, Foursome - M/M/M/M, Group Sex, Humiliation, Intercrural Sex, Jealousy, M/M, Manhandling, Masturbation, Motel Rooms, Name-Calling, Nipple Play, Oral Sex, Orgasm Control, Orgasm Delay/Denial, Orgy, Overstimulation, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Reality Bending, Riding, Rimming, Rough Body Play, Rough Oral Sex, Switching, Teasing, Verbal Humiliation, Whipping, ball play, literal mind fucking, no one dies which is amazing, not too bad for this combo though, so many feelings omfg, the walrider - Freeform, what is going on here
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-11
Updated: 2018-12-11
Packaged: 2019-09-13 07:40:11
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,531
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16888395
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/doubleinfinity/pseuds/his%20tongue%20and%20liver
Summary: Me during the holiday season when my family asks what I've been up to: ummmmmm not much.Essentially this is the foursome (fivesome...?) of the Outlast century.  Basically,  Chris and Eddie + Miles and Waylon share partners with each other.  I only say fivesome because there seems to be some weird demonic entity lingering around Miles...Toned-down post-asylum fic where none of them are criminally ill, they're just.  A little mentally ill.And very, very horny.  A little neurotic.  And as I've prefaced already, perhaps a little bit possessed.





	Soul Fisting.

**Author's Note:**

> Admittedly, I kind of wanted to write an extremely explicit and charged story after getting salty about people censoring intellectual freedom (*cough* I'm gonna need u to read the ALA code of ethics for me, tumblr).
> 
> Anyhow, here is some nastiness, perpetrated by my favorite boys. They've very good at what they do. Enjoy.

“Get that out of my face,” Eddie growls, claws wrapping around the lens of the camcorder.

Miles meet him with a jagged, rough smile: enough teeth to match Eddie’s impulsive snarl, maybe even outnumber it. Eddie is half-ready to get to work on exorcising that grin when he feels two arms drape across his shoulders, pulling him back.

Chris’ hands waterfall down his chest. The soothing effect is instant. As Chris presses his front against Eddie’s back, all of the older’s anxious irritation settles.

“Shut the fuck up, Gluskin,” Chris mumbles lovingly into Eddie’s ear. Miles is still gleaming his knife-like grin across the room, but Eddie is too distracted to care, even when he merely points the camera in a different direction.

Emboldened by warmth of his soulmate’s body pressed against him, Eddie’s eyes cut across the room and land on Waylon, who’s perched awkwardly on the side of the bed.

“Oh,” he murmurs, mostly to himself. “I’m gonna ruin _you_ , kid.”

The blonde violently blushes, eyes darting to the floor between his knees. Eddie laughs sharply before Miles turns and gives Waylon a look, some fleeting message passing between the two. Eddie doesn’t know how to read it. He’s spent all his time learning the language of Chris’ eyes alone, and that blueness has swallowed up the needs and desires and fears of everyone else in his life.

It’s not quite on the level of a chokehold, but Chris wraps a steady elbow around Eddie’s neck. He looks curiously over his shoulder to find Chris wearing a curled smile. “I think we will all have a hand at ruining _you_ tonight, yeah?” he contends, pressing his lips into the nape of Eddie’s neck.

“Fine, darling,” he grumbles, placated. Chris is already out of his shirt, all bare limbs and rolling muscle. Eddie rests his head against a bicep.

Out of the four of them, Eddie doesn’t know who has the best survival instincts.

All he knows is that Chris has the guerrilla tactics and the girth to overpower whoever might prove himself the slipperiest. Eddie is hoping he’ll get to see some of that tonight.

It was good Chris was in the psych ward when he was. He was rage-dominated for the first 6 months that Eddie knew him, breaking bricks or faces, whichever got in his way first. That man was unrecognizable to the smoothed-over veteran he is now, only intermittently prone to ptsd-motivated fits. Even his hair is getting long (well, long for him), and soft again.

His body mass on the other hand… that’s never softened out. Even his inner thighs have a firmness that Eddie has only dreamed of possessing. How this man constantly pushes his body to the edge of his limits and keeps his will from breaking, Eddie will never know. Eddie bends the second the temperature gets turned up.

So dissimilar to that blistering mass of fire, Eddie slinked coldly through his mental illness, slipping on traumas, ducking out of the way of urges he could barely white-knuckle.

As for the other side of the room: Miles saw and heard things. The doctors all said he was schizophrenic, but Eddie has not once heard him insist anything other than the languid “I was possessed.” 

And Waylon…? Well, Eddie suspects only Miles knows what was wrong with Waylon.

Right now, the dark-skinned man is picking up his camera again and pointing it at the blonde’s face, making him laugh annoyedly.

They’ve all been out of the institution for a couple of years at this point. They haven’t seen in each other in a long time (although small towns with only one psychopharmacologist office can change that), but something about meeting in the deepest recesses of psychopathology can stunt temporal perception. Still, they never had encounters quite like _this_ inside the walls of the asylum.

Okay, maybe once.

Okay, maybe two times.

 _Maybe_ three, if you count one ejaculation and two very aggravated patients caught in a storage locker, which Eddie proudly does despite Chris and Miles’ bitter dissention.

There _is_ one new thing about this- they’ve never met Waylon before. The blonde boy is familiar by way of passing, but he always hid from the other patients. He always hid from everyone except Miles.

Another unfamiliar thing: when Chris’ hand slips away and he walks across the room, heading over to where Waylon is flicking through camera settings, Eddie feels a strong pinch of jealousy.

He watches as Chris approaches Miles, and in that moment, nostalgia smothers possessiveness. They look good together. They look like old times.

Chris turns Miles’ head towards by placing a palm against his jaw. The blonde kisses him deeply, cupping his cheek, and a hungry darkness seems to spill out of Miles.

“Let me see him?” Chris asks, pulling away to look down at Waylon.

“I’m not his fucking pet,” the younger snaps at the same time as Miles gives out a quiet laugh, turning an upturned eyebrow towards Eddie.

In another life, Eddie thinks that he would have kept that boy in a cage. Chained angelic Waylon to his radiator and listened to him mewl all night long. Made him his bride.

He sees Chris bend down over the bed and run his hands up Waylon’s legs, exploring him. They’re both blonde, both have cool-toned eyes, but Waylon is an entirely different species. Small and thin, nimble-fingered and wielding a temper that Eddie quite honestly finds pathetic.

The boy looks up at Miles for approval before letting his fingers drift to Chris’ face, trailing his fingertips along the solder’s raised cheekbones. Then they’re kissing, soft at first, but then so greedily that saliva dribbles between them when Chris leans back for air. Eddie can’t wait to taste him, sweetened by the flavors of all these other men.

“You wanna kiss _me_?” Miles asks, jolting his attention away. He’s still poised in his spindly manner, eyes dripping with dark excitement.

Eddie regards him cautiously and crosses the room. Chris is spreading his fingers over Waylon’s thighs, their mouths still slotted together. Trying not to be a disturbance, Eddie sits down next to them and places a hand on his boyfriend’s back to let him know he’s there.

He doesn’t even have a chance to blink before Miles suddenly has his legs draped around Eddie’s lap, snaking his hands underneath his jacket to push it off him. The man moves like a ghost- too fluid and quick to see coming.

“Personally, I think we are beyond kissing,” Miles muses.

“How sad for you.” As soon as the words are said, Eddie feels the bed shift. Chris turns to him, grabbing Eddie’s face in both hands. The younger pulls him in for a kiss, mouth already wet and loose from Waylon’s lips. Eddie notices himself release a relieved sigh. There is a special vigor reserved for him in Chris’ kiss that he _knows_ was made for him alone.

Curled slackly around Eddie’s lap, Miles turns to Waylon and smiles. “I told you they were sentimental sluts,” he purrs, looking hungrily over the blonde’s body. “Do you want to fuck one of them?”

Waylon sits up, his hair tousled from the blankets. He leans across Eddie to thread his fingers with Miles’. “I don’t know yet.”

They hold hands for a minute, looking each other over. They seem to engage in an entire conversation with no words at all. It lasts for so long that Eddie and Chris exchange a hesitant glance.

But then the moment carries on. “Lie down,” Miles suddenly orders Eddie, turning his attention back to him. Eddie doesn’t know why, but he does it without question, lowering until it’s only his elbows keeping him from sinking into the mattress.

Next to him, Waylon lies back down and rolls onto his side. The male trails a strand of fingers along Eddie’s collars, ghosting at his skin. Then his lips are at Eddie’s neck, a tongue flicking faintly against his pulse.

It’s a strange sensation for him, being so accustomed to Chris’ touch, which is always absolute and unignorable.

“Waylon drives me out of my fucking mind,” Miles corroborates after Eddie has flashed a frustrated pair of eyes up at him. “It’s a good day when he doesn’t make me beg for what I want.”

“You do that too, Gluskin,” Chris reminds him, towering over him. “You deserve it.”

“I don’t deserve it,” he says through his teeth, then feels the blonde boy start sucking at his hollow of his throat. His annoyance dissolves, especially when a pair of hands smooth up the front of his pants and start rubbing the shape of his thickening cock.

“Yeah, he likes that,” he hears Chris say, then feels the blonde spreading his thighs wide for Miles' ease of access. The male grips his erection through the fabric, squeezing it. “He likes when you’re a little rough with his dick. Says it feels good when you chafe him and then put him in your mouth.”

Eddie feels his face flush. Hearing Chris flippantly give out his secrets like that makes him feel a tiny bit betrayed and immensely exhibited. He pants, the blood rushing away from his head.

“You should ruin him,” Miles murmurs thoughtfully, still grinding his palm against Eddie’s hardness. “Make him come before he’s even out of his clothes and then fuck him until he cries.”

Chris gives a quiet sigh. “If he wants you to, you can. But I would never do that to him.”

“I absolutely would _not_ want any of you to do that,” Eddie bites back, but Miles just laughs and pulls his pants down around his ankles.

Eddie lurches up and grabs him, tearing at his shirt to return the favor. He hastily unclasps Miles’ belt, tugging it through the loop. Everything else he throws to the floor. This, he stores underneath his own bare thigh, saving it for later.

“Are you going to whip me?” Miles taunts.

“I just might, you whore,” he sneers.

Miles laughs again. This time, Eddie feels his own mouth curve into a smile, betraying him. Fuck. He doesn’t know which of them is enjoying this more.

He changes tones so as to not dwell on it. God forbid if he lets anyone know he’s having a good time.

“Somebody get their hands on my boy,” he demands. “Christ. He’s all alone over there.” He flicks his gaze up to where Chris is standing awkwardly at the foot of the bed. The blonde offers a sheepish grin, all teeth and no threat. Eddie loves him more than he can honestly stand.

Miles bites. “Come here, strongfat,” he ushers, purring.

Confusion flits across Chris’ face for just a moment, but then he steps into the trinity of bodies.

Obediently, Miles turns away from Eddie and trundles onto the bed next to him, leaving them both looking up at the soldier.

“He’s as big as he seems, Waylon,” Miles speaks before wrapping his arms around Chris’ hips and pulling the man into him. “Could split you in half, and then in fourths too.” He looks up at Chris even while addressing Waylon, before burying his face between the blonde’s thighs. He says something else after that, but it’s too muffled to make out. Chris sucks in his breath as the words become saliva, Miles mouthing at him through his jeans.

Not wanting to be left a voyeur, Eddie gets off the bed and slides up behind his lover. He wraps his arms around Chris’ torso, sealing him in a cage of limbs.

“You feel good about this, Chris?” he checks, burying his face into the crook of the blonde’s neck. With a roll of his hips, he fits his erection between the younger’s thighs, reveling in the delightful friction of his cock against the rough fabric.

The blond huffs out a muffled _mmf_. Miles’ tongue is now lapping at the bulge in his pants. Eddie’s erection is lodged between his thighs, sliding back and forth. While teasing both of them with those small, jagged thrusts, Eddie takes one of Chris’ nipples between his fingers and starts rolling it, sucking the flesh of his neck between his teeth.

Chris lets out an overstimulated gasp. “Please whip me,” he breathes impulsively, voice shaky. “Whip me instead?”

He tightens his muscles, twisting as Eddie rolls his thumb unforgivingly around the nub of his nipple. He’s overwhelmed by all the hands and mouths roaming across his body.

“Of course, darling,” Eddie growls into his ear, reaching around him for the belt. “Take yourself out of those clothes.”

Chris squirms out of his jeans with Miles’ help, bending so he can lean over the bed. He hears Eddie snap the belt into a loop, then feels the leather run provocatively over the curve of his ass, metal clasp stinging when Eddie deliberately rests it against his hole. Chris holds his breath, waiting.

Miles runs a participatory hand up and down his arm. “C’mere, Waylon,” he murmurs gently. The other blonde is lying bored on the bed, watching disinterestedly. “Watch. He’s hard as fuck waiting to get beaten. Gluskin’s conditioned him.”

Degraded, Chris whimpers once, and then again when Waylon paws across the bed to heft his balls in his palm. They’re so heavy Waylon wonders that his cock shouldn’t have trouble standing up. But it does, as thick and swollen as Miles promised. He runs his tongue along its underside before fitting his mouth around one of his aching balls. Chris hitches forward, helpless to his own instinct.

“Don’t reward him before he’s earned it,” Miles cautions, threading his fingers through Waylon’s mess of hair.

“Oh, he’s definitely earned it,” Eddie opposes, then whips the belt against Chris’ ass.

Chris lets out a small, wounded noise. The beating knocks his hips reflexively forward, and Waylon takes his half of his cock into his mouth.

His body tenses and then the belt hits him again, lashing across his butt cheeks. He moans. It feels amazing: his body clenching in anticipation. The belt hitting him and whiting everything out. Then feeling Waylon’s mouth, still wrapped around him when the tension in his body releases.

To be fair, Waylon isn’t making much of an effort. His mouth is just warm and wet, sitting around Chris’ cock, but each smack thrusts him deeper into the male’s throat. The belt hits him again, making every muscle tense and release.

It’s only been three lashings, but he knows he could come from just one more. It’s too intense on him. He trusts Eddie too much. He is willing to give this man his body and soul. He will give his body to any of these men if it pleases Gluskin.

He’s relieved when Eddie lowers the belt presses into him again, arms wrapping lovingly around his front.

“Was this for me?” he asks, trailing his fingers up to Chris’ entrance to tap the butt plug that’s jutting out of him. “Or have you _finally_ learned that you’re just too god damn impatient to ever be prepared properly?”

Chris’ heaves melt into a gentle laugh. It feels good, letting go of that laugh.

“Both,” he answers, badly wanting to thrust his hips into Waylon’s mouth, but keeping still for Eddie. The other blonde eventually grows tired of waiting and pops off him to kiss Miles. The sense of loss is instant.

“Wait- come back,” he requests of Waylon, precum rolling desperately down the tip of his cock.

A dark shade of pride colors Eddie’s face. He drags a hand down Chris’ chest. “Beg for him,” he urges, voice taking on that cruel tone of his. Eddie can change so fast. “Beg for Waylon and not me.”

Chris chokes on a moment of conflict. He doesn’t know what to say.

“So? Are you going to renounce me to get your dick sucked by some stranger?” Eddie taunts, toying with him. “Don’t you want it bad enough?”

Chris’ mind hurts. Eddie is always fucking with his head. It’s impossible to know what he will be rewarded or punished for, what will inspire pride and what will cause deep offense. He closes his eyes and tries to find a neutral place to stand.

“Please,” he resolves weakly, not knowing what else to say.

With the hand curled around Waylon’s hair, Miles pulls the boy off his lips and directs them back to Chris’ groin. He cries out when Eddie lashes him suddenly, then grabs the tail of the butt plug and starts working it out of him. It stings for a second, but Chris doesn’t think it was meant to be a punishment. If it was, he would know. Oddly enough, this reads like _approval_.

Relieved, his body relaxes again. Waylon’s tongue drags its way back up his cock, teasing him with its barely-there touch before swallowing him down again.

Wetness spills from the corner of his eyes when Eddie slaps him- with the palm of his hand this time- and sends his hips jerking deeper down Waylon’s throat.

“You know what _he_ likes?” Eddie asks rhetorically, whipping the belt onto the floor and gripping Chris to grind against him. “He likes when you make him crazy and force him to come. He likes to be so out of his fucking mind with humiliation and need that he can’t hold himself in check anymore.”

With his hands on his hips, Eddie guides him out of Waylon’s mouth, winding his partner around to face him. “Am I right, darling?”

On the bed, Miles puts a steadying hand on Waylon’s chest as the boy coughs violently, seeking enough oxygen to make up for the cock that was just rammed down his throat.

“Too much, angel?” Miles asks, glancing over to watch Eddie sit Chris down on the bed. “You want to take a break?”

Waylon swipes the back of palm across his mouth, wiping away his own saliva. “No,” he answers, arching his shoulders to crawl across the bed. His eyes are fixed on Chris, hard and hungry.

“Good boy,” Miles praises in a gravelly hum, passing his fingertips along Waylon’s back as the male crawls away. Chris is being laid out on the bed and spread apart, and Waylon is intent on intercepting them before he can be left out of it.

Settling between the blonde’s legs, Eddie pulls the plug out of Chris and replaces it with his fingers, testing the yield of his ring of muscles.

“You’ve already stretched yourself wide enough to be fucked,” Eddie snarls pleasantly. He hears the plug clatter on the wooden floor. “I bet you pressed down on it the whole ride here, you slut.”

“Fuck,” Chris gasps as Eddie pushes into him unexpectedly, a sharp thrust that fills him with sparks and makes all the heat in his body curl. He throws his head into the mattress, groaning as he takes the stretch of Eddie filling his empty hole.

Without being told to, he lifts his legs into the air so he can spread them wider. Eddie grabs the blonde’s calves and pulls his feet to shoulders, jerking him closer. A pink flush spreads over his face as Eddie bends him back and sinks into him with one deep heave, filling him to the brim.

Two of his hands locked around the younger’s hips, Eddie starts fucking him with deep, quick thrusts.

“ _Yes_ ,” Chris sighs, body arching in pleasure. Electricity floods him, a sensation that lashes even more intensely each time Eddie slams against his prostate. He moans helplessly, warmth pooling in his groin. The sound of Eddie’s balls slapping against his ass does more to his morals than he could ever admit.

On the bed, Waylon appears through his haze of desire, looping a leg over his torso. The boy leans over him and their mouths meet, Chris’ loose and gasping.

Hunger overtakes civility. Chris wraps his hands around Waylon’s face and deepens the kiss, whining ravenously. In response, the boy runs a set of fingers through the male’s scalp, pressing his head into the mattress. Chris whines even louder and pulls Waylon down with him, struggling for contact. He mouths at the air until the blonde’s tongue is sliding back down his throat.

The thrusts stop suddenly, creating a vacuum where Eddie once had been. In a flash of pain, a hand clamps around Waylon’s throat, and with a bark, Eddie jerks him abruptly into the air.

He splutters helplessly, choking, as Eddie holds him by the neck. The man’s angry, jealous eyes light the darkness of the motel room. There is murder on his face.

“If you touch Chris again, you man-stealing tramp,” he threatens, “I will tear your innards out of-”

“ _Eddie_.”

Mile’s warning is steady, authoritative. Eddie snaps his head to look at him.

Miles stares him down.

“If you can’t handle this, you can go home,” he announces coldly, sprawled placidly on the bed. Though his posture is nonthreatening, his eyes are narrowed, waiting, almost as if they dare Eddie to make another violent move.

One by one, Eddie uncurls his fingers. He lets Waylon plop back down onto the bed.

His glare holds for a moment longer before he comes fully back to himself.

“I’m good,” he assures finally, letting the heat die out of his eyes. “It’s nothing… I just… I got jealous.”

Chris props himself up and puts a hand on Eddie’s arm, stroking it with his thumb. He doesn’t have to say anything. The gesture is enough to calm Eddie’s racing mind and settle his crazed heart.

“I want to ride him,” Waylon growls out of nowhere, looking angrier and more focused than he has all night. “I want you to watch me make him come and know you’re not the only one he belongs to.”

A million emotions slink through Eddie’s mind. He turns his head sharply to Miles, eyes burning.

“I think I _do_ quite like your boy, Miles,” he confides intensely, though his teeth are bared when he says it. “He’s cruel. Even crueler than I am.”

Miles grins. “I know he is. That’s why I want him always beside me.”

Eddie looks at Waylon again and sees him for who he truly is: a timid, anxious boy who, one day, was broken and never got put back together. A shy and awkward man who suddenly had to stop giving a fuck and has not given a single one since. The kind of man Miles could love bottomlessly. The kind of boy he could drink from, lifetime after lifetime.

Eddie is reminded of Chris’ touch when the blonde starts to pet him more urgently, caressing his hand up and down Eddie’s elbow.

“Eddie?” he asks, concern in his face. “Are you okay?”

As curved and slick as a reptile, Eddie tilts his head down. “Darling,” he responds smoothly, putting a hand on top of Chris’ own. “I have left you so unfulfilled. Will you forgive me?”

Chris blinks, his eyes blue and wide. The male has an intensely gentler side, and Eddie revels in delight whenever he gets to see it. He loves it, too, when Chris grabs him and bends him backwards. When the blonde uses his rippling muscles to hold him down and fuck him until he’s a mess. Those moments when Chris is thrusting into him and suddenly hits him with one hard slap to the face, making his eyes fill with tears. Eddie loves that. But he loves this too, when his boy acts just as boyish as they come.

That’s the point of their relationship. Neither one of them is _the_ keeper. They are both simply kept by each other.

“Climb on top of him,” Eddie tells Waylon, getting back into position. He waves a resigned hand defeatedly in the air. “See what he’s like. You won’t be disappointed.”

Eddie swears he only looks away for one second, but when he glances back at the other couple, they’re both completely naked. Miles is lounging across the bed on his stomach, watching the scene with a gratified expression.

Back in his prior position, Waylon hooks a leg over Chris’ front and settles down on top of him, this time facing Eddie.

“When did you-” Eddie starts to ask, still hung up on the loss of clothing, but Waylon grabs Eddie’s face and yanks him in for a kiss that shuts him up.

The fitful emotions stir around in the pit of his stomach. As such, it takes a second for Eddie to nurse himself back to hardness, but something about watching Waylon roll back on his hips to sit on Chris’ face is just the right combination of filthy and infuriating for Eddie to find himself getting worked up again. Then he’s fucking himself along the cleft of Chris’ ass before slipping back into him, burying himself deep and easy. Despite himself, he groans into Waylon’s mouth, all his negative emotions dissolving. It’s like his muscles kept themselves spread wide, desperately _waiting_ for him to return. The last layer of jealousy flakes off.

“Get me ready?” Waylon asks now that Eddie’s taken care of, angling his head down to catch Chris’ eyes.

In the place of a nod, Chris closes his eyes and stretches his fingers on either side of Waylon’s buttcheeks. He opens his mouth to start lapping at the boy’s hole in thick stripes.

Across the room, Miles watches with a sense of orchestrated pride. He will join them soon. But right now, watching his boy share the bodies of these men who _he_ shared his past with is enough to satisfy him.

The little details are the prettiest parts: Chris’ facial expression. His eyelashes, blonde as hell, resting against his cheek bones as his features soften in pleasure. The way Eddie’s hair has wrestled its way out of whatever product previously slicked it back, now splayed wild and black over his face.

And Waylon…

Waylon clenches his muscles and drags himself across the blonde’s tongue, hitching his hips back until there’s enough yield for Chris to plunge inside him. He puts two hands on Chris’ sternum for stability and follows the flow of his movement, fucking himself on the soldier’s tongue. Red flushes over his pale skin, melting his self-awareness. Each time he presses into Chris’ face, he opens his mouth to let out a quiet whimper of need.

Miles moves.

Even after all these months, Waylon is still not used to the speed at which Miles travels. It surprises him when he finds his boyfriend suddenly kneeling by his side with a hand pressed to the front of his chest.

“Let me hasten this,” Miles insists, motioning for him to arch his body forward. He slips two slicked-up fingers against the boy’s hole, now wet and stretched, and starts scissoring him. “Chris is getting closer than he realizes, and I want to make sure you get what you need.”

Waylon doesn’t have to composure to object. Through lidded eyes, he moans as one of Mile’s hands starts pumping his cock to full hardness while getting the other knuckle-deep inside of him.

“Miles, no. N- not all the way-” he requests through gritted teeth. “Want to be _almost_ prepared for it.”

He doesn’t have to look to know Miles is grinning with the fervor of fish-hooks. “Of course, angel,” he hums, and Waylon hears the roughness of delight in his voice.

From the foot of the bed, Eddie sighs loudly as he spills into Chris, wet with sweat and shaking from exertion. The older male milks his orgasm with a few deep, slow thrusts, and Miles has to swiftly pull his fingers out of Waylon to smack down on Chris’ chest.

The sensation jars Chris- so close to coming himself- away from the edge, forcing his attention off the spine-shocking pleasure of Eddie making love to his prostate.

Miles _sees_ how they are connected. He can damn nearly feel his hand pass through their private magnetic field when he shocks Chris out of the moment…

But it works. Chris startles and doesn’t follow Eddie to orgasm.

Breathing shakily, Eddie draws away from Chris’ body, putting a hand to his cock. He runs his fist gently over it until he’s soft again, taking a staggered seat on the side of the bed. He glides the flat on his palm across Chris’ face.

“Was that good?” he asks when Chris’ eyelashes unfurl to expose the blue of his eyes.

Chris nods exhaustedly, a sheen of sweat covering his face. He’s on the edge with arousal, all those warm colors and temperatures filling him like a balloon. He needs contact so badly he could plead for it.

He just about keens when Waylon turns to face him and starts rubbing against his cock, erect and glistening with precome. He’s not alone in the feeling. Waylon moans too, hitching back against his hardness until he gets the tip of Chris’ penis to sink into him. He rocks himself against Chris’ erection until finally pushing himself halfway down Chris’ shaft. He grits his teeth at the sensation of it, like he’s truly being split open. (Not quite in half, but getting there).

Miles watches, running a single thumb down his own chest.

He feels the jolt of shock in his own body when Chris grabs Waylon by the hips and thrusts him all the way down. The younger blonde cries out, clenching around Chris’ cock. Miles winces interestedly, eyes shining.

“He’s okay,” Miles hastily relays to Chris, who’s hesitating to continue. “Don’t hold back with him. He’s not in pain.”

And he’s not. Miles feels the stretch as though it’s his own body experiencing it, but there isn’t much pain. And what pain there is is immediately forgotten when Chris grabs Waylon’s sides and starts thrusting his hips up, pounding desperately into Waylon, bouncing the boy’s body along with his own movements.

Waylon’s features squeeze. “ _Ahh,_ ” he hisses, letting Chris handle him. “Harder,” he whispers, drawing out his legs. He cries out again when Chris slams him down faster, filling him to the point of breaking.

Miles wraps a hand around his own cock, jerking himself with languid, teasing strokes.

“Eddie,” he announces, looking through the two blondes to the man lying against the headboard. “You’re not done. I want a chance to fuck you.”

A flicker of surprise darts across the other man’s face. Then it sinks into a dark simmer of anticipation. Miles and Eddie are capable of meeting each other octaves below anyone else. They both sing at a lower frequency, so low that neither of them has met anyone else capable of matching it. They are able to go down levels together that no one else knows how to follow.

“I’ll prepare myself,” Eddie says impartially, finally unhooking his eyes from Miles.

Freed from that piercing gaze, Miles slumps forward onto his belly and crawls across the bed, taking his own dick into his hand. He reaches with his free hand to grab Waylon’s, leaning in to put his lips around his lover’s cock.

Chris looks up through heavily-lidded eyes and then lies back down with a grunt, fucking himself up into the male.

With a hand curled around Waylon’s cock, Miles’ mouth sinks down on him every time he’s bounced up by Chris’ hips. Miles doesn’t tease. He jerks himself off roughly while taking Waylon down his throat each time he’s thrusted back into the air.

“Can I come in you?” Chris asks breathlessly, reaching up to put a hand to Waylon’s jaw.

When he feels the blonde nod, he sighs loudly and runs his hand back down to his hips. He grabs them and lets himself go, thrusts faster and more erratic. The rhythm is gone but something about it still strikes Waylon in an extremely pleasurable way.

They orgasm almost at the same time; Chris’ loud and explosive from almost an hour of build-up, and Waylon’s damn near invisible, swallowed right down Miles’ throat and muffled by the teeth he has clenched together.

Eddie, buried in his own fingers, expects to feel another wave of jealousy crash over him when Miles draws back, prompting Chris to pull Waylon against his chest for a messy hug, pawing a grateful hand through his hair. But he doesn’t. He instead feels a huge dam of love break open in his chest. He loves that Chris is the kind of man who holds you close once he’s finished fucking you.

Miles is not going to hold him. And he’s not just going to fuck him either. Maybe he’s sweet with Waylon, but Eddie doubts any of that will be spent on him.

“Your turn, pretty boy,” Miles purrs threateningly, rolling onto his back. There is something so controlled and rigid about the man- you can even see it in his journal article writings- that when he becomes fluid and loose like this, it’s intoxicating.

Eddie pulls off the bed and rounds to meet him. Miles is all dark limbs that go on for ages, all cat-like smiles that make him look like the intersection of death and vibrancy. He rolls his shoulders deep into the bed and pumps his cock through his fist, offering a labored breath each time he slides the head through his fingers.

“I want your mouth,” he says with a husky smile, head tilted in mock-innocence.

The lights in the room dim and then flicker. Eddie looks up, then over to where Waylon and Chris are cuddling in a heap of exhaustion and labored breathing, coming down together.

A vision of Miles pounding into him hits him so hard that he reels from it. The video plays in his mind, obscuring his other senses. It could have been a memory from the institution, but it’s not. It’s a premonition of the next ten minutes. It fizzles out so rapidly that he has no choice but to believe he imagined it.

And still, the feeling of it lingers inside him.

Eddie licks his lips. He gets to his knees and knocks his forehead against Miles’ calf, brushing his lips over the man’s leg.

Miles’ limbs shift around him, pulling him in before spreading open. Eddie leans up and nips at his inner thigh, a hungry scowl on his face. For him, this isn’t about pleasure. It’s about the cold, sinking feeling he gets when he gets this close to Miles. It is something he’s never felt anywhere else.

Shifting forward, Eddie brings his hands up to glide over Mile’s thigh, reaching for his crotch.

Miles sits up suddenly, and in the same motion, Eddie feels his arms get pulled behind his back. Something clamps tight around his wrists, binding them together. The belt.

Surprised, he lets out a stuttered gasp, whipping around to look behind him. Miles grabs his face quickly, pulling his gaze away. He pulls at the leather binding but it’s wound too tightly to break free of.

“What-?” he starts to ask, but Miles harshens his hold and forces his head down between his legs.

“I said I wanted your mouth, Eddie,” he explains. “Not your hands.”

“How did you make th-”

This time, Miles grips his hair so hard it hurts. He whimpers in pain. That coldness certainly runs through him now, slower and thicker than it’s ever been. He feels very scared. And yet very, very alive.

Eddie’s heart races.

“Let’s not waste time being mythopoeic,” he rumbles, stroking the side of Eddie’s face with his thumb. “I could explain it. You could explain it. Or we could quiet our brains and start sucking dick again.”

Eddie fusses, forced down on the man’s dick. He has no choice but to open his mouth and take Miles in, letting the cock hit the inside of his cheek.

He bitterly relents, snaking his tongue up the man’s length. Mile’s touch stops being forceful and starts being rewarding, petting the side of his face. “Good boy,” he praises, rolling his hips to meet Eddie, who’s cheeks are hollow now that he’s sucking.

Unlike when they were said to Waylon, the words are meant to be demeaning. He feels hot and sticky as offense churns in his gut. It hits on the shame furrowed the deepest inside of him.

“You’re my good boy,” Miles continues. “A true Gluskin.”

Eddie’s eyes clench with tears before he rolls them up to look at Miles helplessly. The male smiles down at him, guiding the bobbing motions of his head with a hand on the back of his scalp.

Eddie doesn’t know how Miles knows the words his dad used to say to him. Or why he would use them now to violate him like this.

The upset floods his belly, and, he is surprised to find, pumps him back through with arousal. The tears spill from the corners of his eyes but only because he is suddenly gasping with the need to be fucked. It feels as though a million hands are gliding all over his body. It feels like he’s in a sentient cloud, licking at every inch of his skin.

Miles grabs him by the shoulders and twists him around, throwing Eddie down on the bed.

The thud against the mattress gets Chris and Waylon’s attention. Chris goes to grab for Eddie but Waylon intercepts, swiping at his hand.

“Don’t,” Waylon assures him, threading their fingers together. He rolls onto his side between Chris and the other pair, holding Chris’ hands down by their legs. “Miles plays rough sometimes. Let them do their thing.”

Chris looks watchfully over Waylon’s shoulder instead of responding.

Eddie _isn’t_ complaining, to be fair. He’s writhing on the bed with his hands clamped behind his back, restrained by the belt, opening his legs to take Miles between them.

“Please,” he gasps, a broken sound that definitely gets Chris’ attentions. There are times when Chris has tied him down and teased him to the point of tears, and Chris is not sure he ever sounded quite like he does now.

“Be patient, _slut,_ ” Miles taunts him, spitting his own language back at him. Then he turns Eddie around on the bed, flipping him onto his stomach. “What do you want from me?”

“Mmm-” Eddie tries as Miles slides a hand up the back of his neck, then curves it around to grip the tender part of his throat.

“I want you to fuck me,” he says faintly. It feels like there is a moistness all around him, playing with his body. “Please.” He thinks Miles’ fingers push into his mouth, but he’s not sure. It might be something else.

“Of course,” Miles rumbles tenderly. He slips his hands down to pull apart Eddie’s cheeks, prodding himself against the male’s entrance. There are two hands on his ass but the sensation of fingers stays in Eddie’s mouth. Fingertips dance clearly across his tongue. He bites down on the substance in his mouth the second that Miles pushes into him.

“Fuck,” Miles yelps, then laughs. “I felt that.”

“What are you doing to-”

But before Eddie can finish, Miles is spearing him with his cock, pounding into him at a breakneck speed. Eddie curls up into the bed, gripping the sheets between his fingers. He hisses through his teeth. It isn’t even necessarily pleasurable. But he needs it.

Miles fucks into him, breathing harder.

Eddie finds himself wishing that the camera had been kept on. He wishes he knew what was touching him, what bound the belt around his wrists, what pressed its skin into his mouth. But he knows, even without knowing, that there would be nothing to see if he looked.

“Are you your father’s boy?” Miles asks him, wrenching his heart around.

“What?” Eddie asks helplessly, body shaking.

Miles cuts himself off with a moan, gyrating his hips. “Keep your eyes open,” he warns, and then Eddie feels him spill into him, ejaculating with a low rumble. Come gushes and then drips back out of him.

And that isn’t where it ends.

An oily blackness continues to spill through him. The thick, dark cloud rolls throughout his body, flooding him, until no corner of his soul is left uncoated. His eyes fill with a black-green glow, and when he looks up, they pierce through the darkness like a flashlight beaming through the inside of his skull.

All at once, he can see everything. Nothing can hide from him.

Chris is still looking at him nervously. The man’s love for him is on his face, in his soul, rooted so deeply that Eddie wonders how he could have ever questioned it. His scars, too, are slashed so deeply across his person that Eddie is shocked at how rarely he lets them be seen. They are wounds from war, entrenched in his body and brain to the point where they have become a permanent part of his character. There are strings running from them that spear into Eddie. But there are other strings too.

There is a piece of all of them in him now. His soul has been fisted by each of them, in one way or another.

There are even remnants of all the other people who have been in this motel room. He smells them. They’ve left pieces of themselves: residue, hair fibers, skin flakes. He knows their names. He knows their lives.

Inside himself, his DNA twists. He roots out the nucleotide arrangements he shares with his dad. He understands every thread woven through his family tree. He connects each trait to each person it comes from, and where those family lines extend. He knows now exactly where his father is still living on inside him. He severs the cord. It is not a grand moment. It is not a catharsis. He is simply free.

He looks back to Miles and recognizes that this same darkness inside of him is grafted to the man’s body. It clings to his skin like old paint, melted and sticky, but never drying.

A man with this extra pair of skin could hunger and thirst for his whole life and never see it quenched. Eddie looks at him sadly. He’s torn between sympathy and jealousy. This thing lives in Miles. This is what it is like to be in Miles’ head.

Miles slashes the back of his knuckles against his mouth to wipe away saliva, then notices he is being watched. He grins back. 

Eddie knows they are both seeing the same thing. They are alone in this space together.

Then the green glow dies out of his eyes.

The world fades back to normal, dulling to its regular intensity. His mind scrambles for purchase, trying desperately to hold onto some of the knowledge he just had access to- but it dies away before he can get a solid grip on it.

Still, he feels oddly freed. The belt unravels around his wrists.

He sits up, gasping for air. Chris jumps to his knees on the bed and catches him from behind. The blonde is there for him to crumble against. A safe place to put his head.

“Thank you,” he says after taking a moment to swallow, heart beating crazily against his breast. “I don’t know what that was, but thank you.”

The last of the oily darkness seems to sink back below Miles’ skin. Chris doesn’t seem to have noticed it. Waylon looks like he’s seen it enough to consider it normal.

“Maybe you can… rest easy now,” Miles says slowly, grinning lithely. He claws himself up the bed until he’s lying down in the heap with Chris and Eddie, laying his head on Eddie’s chest. “A good fucking always makes me feel lighter,” he adds, tracing a finger across Eddie’s abdomen.

Shakily, Eddie lets out a breath.

“Waylon,” he offers quietly, getting the attention of the boy on the outskirts.

After a moment, the youngest finally relents, edging across the bed to curl up with them. Eddie wraps his arms around him, pulling him close with a heaving sigh.

This was the illicit behavior he most frequently sought out at the institution, despite all of his other appetites: cuddling. The need for human contact. The hunger for a warm body held against his, to feel them breathing, to touch their thrumming pulse.

Down by his legs, Miles and Waylon loop together for a kiss, tangling their bodies together.

Eddie doesn’t need that strange demonic entity inside him to see the ties that bind them.

But there was something- while it was inside him, while he was seeing what it saw… it… it saw the universe in a way that made sense. In a way that _clicked._ Like everything finally had come together and he knew the answers to all his questions, before he'd even asked them.

Now that feeling is completely gone. Out of the reach of his human mind.

All there is now are the two men embracing against his chest, and Chris leaning down to press a kiss between his eyes.

And he thinks, he will settle for this answer instead.

And for once there is peace inside his mind.


End file.
